


Who is the Monster?

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abused Sam, M/M, OMC - Freeform, Prompt Fic, Violence, slight non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Abused Sam prompt fest - Sam gets a stalker at Stanford. Human or non-human (or both) is up to the author. Wincest is preferred, but Sam/Jess is fine, too, or gen.</p><p>A/N I went for Wincest. I also wanted to explore the real monsters of this world and not just the supernatural ones! There are warnings for slight non-con but that is about all!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who is the Monster?

The Present

Things were better; not great but better and Sam could only be grateful for it.

The wall in his head had come down and he was still walking around, still sane and not some drooling vegetable as Dean had feared. There had been Castiel to deal with, which had been painful and something he never wanted to repeat, and there had been a lot of issues to work through but for the first time in what seemed like years, decades even, he was with his brother and there were no secrets, no issues, no problems between them and it made him happy, content.

They were hunting; a simple job in Texas, a restless spirit who was causing mayhem in an old house. It was like old times and Sam was almost delirious with it, riding shotgun, moaning about Dean’s music, winding the window down and letting the breeze sting his face. They had found a reasonable motel, a cheap and cheerful steakhouse and a bar that sold cut-price beer. Sam felt as if he could forget everything and just enjoy Dean’s company; enjoy being with his brother as equals again, memories of demons, monsters and the Apocalypse dampened by hot wings, a pitcher of amber liquid and a seriously bloody steak with fries.

The bar was crowded and Dean sent Sam up to buy the next pitcher; both of them already warm and relaxed, the taste of hops and ice on their tongues. Sam pushed his way through the throng, moving easily, his height and frame giving him a distinct advantage. He leant against the sticky surface and gestured to the barman who made his way over with a grin. Sam put his hand in his pocket for his wallet and got out the crumpled notes making sure to leave a substantial tip. He was hoping they might be here for some time and that they might come back here again and he was happy to flavor the pot; make sure that he and Dean always got a good deal.

Something made him pause for a moment; a slow creep of icy fingers along his spine. He rubbed the back of his neck and turned, slowly, his heart pounding hard in his chest as he caught a glimpse of the man behind him.

It couldn’t be, he reasoned, not now, not here, not after all these years. He dropped his head for a moment, hiding, stupidly, behind his bangs, regressing almost to that lonely nineteen year old that got off the bus at Stanford with no friends or family. He looked around wildly for some means of escape and in his panic he almost knocked the pitcher of beer, the barman had brought him, off the bar. He apologized and picked it up with shaking hands, looking behind him again and breathing a stupid sigh of relief when the face he was searching for had definitely disappeared.

“You okay Sammy?” Dean was still in their booth, head back, eyes half-mast. He was smiling and contented and Sam felt a wave of nausea pass over him as he realized that he was still keeping secrets from his brother.

“Yeah.” It was a lie and Dean knew it; Sam realized how he must look right now, clutching a pitcher, the relaxed aura that had surrounded him gone in an instant just because he thought he saw somebody.

“Sam?” There was a frown between Dean’s brows that he had put there and he bit his lip hard as he tried to decide what to do, what to say. “Sam sit down before you fall down man.”

He shuffled into the booth and buried his head in his hands; he was twenty-nine years old and had been to hell yet he was still terrified by what he thought he had seen in a crowded bar, still petrified by the sight of a human, a simple human being, not a monster or a demon but just as threatening, someone who had made his life at Stanford an utter misery, someone he hoped and prayed he would never, ever see again.

“Sam?” Dean’s eyes were bright, full of questions and he knew that he had to be honest with his brother, knew he would have to tell him something he had never told anyone; not even Jess.

“Back when I was at Stanford . . . ,” he began and Dean frowned, shaking his head, wondering why they were actually going there. “I-I experimented – you know – I wasn’t sure if I was into guys or girls. I wasn’t sure – I – there was this guy and we – he - ,” his voice was muffled as he hid his face, his eyes stinging foolishly, wondering if he had disappointed his brother yet again, wondering if he had let Dean down.

“S’okay, Sam.” Dean’s hand snaked out and ruffled his hair, quick and affectionate. “It really is okay.”

“No, Dean, it isn’t. I have to tell you – you have to know.”

“Know what, Sammy?”

“What happened – what he did.”

“What did he do Sam?” The hand in his hair tightened and he heard the protective anger in his brother’s voice. “What the fuck did he do?”

“It was a long time ago Dean,” Sam sighed and let the tears come. “I was alone. It was – there was no devil’s traps, no salt, no protective rituals – he was just human, Dean. He was just human.”

“Tell me,” Dean said and Sam looked up, met sympathetic green eyes and took a deep breath.

The Past

He got off the bus lonely and tired with no one to ask, no one to tell him what to do. It was an odd feeling being alone like this for the first time since he was born almost. He had always had someone around him; if not his dad or his brother then Bobby or Caleb or Pastor Jim. He had enough money to get him to Stanford and, on arriving, he found himself shown to his dorm room and introduced to a roommate who was silent and self-absorbed. That night he lay on his hard bed, his meager belongings hidden beneath it, his eyes stinging with un-shed tears as he questioned his sudden break for freedom.

Things got better as they often did; Sam settled in a bit more and began to find his way around the place. He met a few of his fellow classmates, got a job in the local bar that would help supplement his studies and garnered a few invitations to wild parties that were being held on site. He got used to being without his brother but he never stopped missing Dean, never stopped thinking about him. He couldn’t, as hard as he tried, erase the memories of his brother’s hurt face from his mind, couldn’t forget the way Dean had stared at him the night he left, pleading wordlessly for him to stay. He sighed and curled up on his bed staring at the clean, white walls wondering what Dean might be doing right now. He itched to get out his cheap cell and give Dean a call but he wasn’t sure what sort of welcome he would get, what Dean might say to him. He hurt right down to his bones and he was certain that if he called right now Dean would just tell him to fuck off.

So, instead of feeling sorry for himself he got up and dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a crisp white t-shirt. He had been invited to a frat party a few dorms over and he decided that it might be the best thing for him to get out and meet a few new people. He bought a bottle of wine and a six pack from the store opposite the college, the one that didn’t ask for your ID, and made his way to the party determined to have a good time for once, determined to put hunting and his brother behind him, determined to have a life that was some way normal.

****

The punch was strong but tasted deceptively fruity and refreshing; Sam drank three cups before he began to feel hot, strangely happy, the bitter tang of raspberry on his tongue. The party was in full swing and everyone was either drinking, dancing or necking in dark corners. Sam felt a little self-conscious, his height making him stand out from the crowd. A few girls looked up at him with some interest and he smiled, shyly, down at them. His legs wobbled a bit and he leant against a leather sofa feeling it creak under his weight.

“You should sit down,” the voice was deep and kind and Sam found himself staring at a guy maybe a little older than him and a few inches smaller. He was sandy haired with red-gold stubble and bright green eyes and Sam’s mouth was dry as he opened it to reply, swaying so badly that the guy took his arm and steadied him, steering him around the sofa and onto it, the softness of leather making him close his eyes for a moment, the scent surrounding him reminding him of Dean and of home.

“Thanks.” He kept his eyes closed while the room spun around him. “The punch is – is a little strong,” he giggled. “Totally a lightweight,” he mumbled and the guy rewarded him with a huffed laugh.

“What’s your name?” The guy was close to him now and he could smell old spice and the tangy scent of chips. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Sam – Sam Winchester.” It felt good to use his real name, no alias, nothing hidden. “Came last month.” He leant his head back further. “Nice here.”

“Sure is.” He felt a big hand on his thigh and it gave him a thrill of excitement, of forbidden lust. “You wanna get out of here Sam? Get some fresh air?”

Sam would have nodded but his head was spinning and his legs felt like jelly. He opened his eyes for a moment to see moss green orbs staring at him and he felt his stomach clench, his cock grow half-hard in his jeans.

He had always been unsure if he liked women or men; not sure if he preferred legs and breasts to taut chests and firm thighs. He had never dared even suggest it to his dad and he knew Dean wouldn’t understand either. Not that it mattered because he couldn’t discuss it with Dean; Dean being one of the reasons why he was so fucking confused. How could he turn around and tell his big brother that he had feelings for him? How could he even think about it, let alone propose they did anything about it?

Out in the garden he found himself pressed hard against the wall; the mysterious guy’s hands all over him. It was arousing but in his drunken state he wasn’t sure he should be doing this and he wanted – yeah he wanted – but he was pretty sure he should be doing this sober.

“Dude.” He pulled eager hands off his body. “We should do this another time.”

“You wanna' tease me? Get me all worked up and then let me down.” The guy snorted. “Come on Sam Winchester, you know you want it.”

“No!” Sam pulled away, using his height and strength to put a fair distance between the two of them. “I’m not saying no, just maybe another time.”

The man looked at him with anger; green eyes dark and so familiar they made Sam ache. He staggered away, not wanting to have this discussion now, homesickness and alcohol warring in his gut. He got as far as his own dorm room before he hunched over and threw up in the gutter, his head burning; his body damp with sweat as he vomited over and over. When he managed to get himself together he made his way to his dorm room where he stripped off to his boxers and fell exhausted into his bed, vowing never to drink again and to apologize to the guy when he saw him – maybe ask him to the cinema or something.

Two days later he met Jess in Art class and things changed; but not – as he hoped – for the better.

****

He saw him all the time even when he wasn’t actually looking; dark leather, a flash of blond hair, green eyes glinting. The first few times he was convinced it was Dean and then – when he knew it wasn’t – the very sight of him made Sam’s stomach clench and he wondered if the guy was actually stalking him.

He turned up in classes, at the bar, even at restaurants where he had taken Jess to eat. One day at the cinema the guy was even in the row behind him and Sam began to feel uneasy, afraid, wondering what he could do to make the guy just go away. His relationship with Jess was blooming, turning into something good, something right, something normal and he didn’t want to go down any other road; it was way too late for that.

In Sam’s usual circumstances he would have salted windowsills or drawn sigils on the walls but this was his dorm and he would have looked damn silly doing it. Jess was already making noises about moving in together and Sam wanted that to happen, figuring that there was no way it would happen if Jess thought he was anything but normal.

He was at the gym; it was late and he liked working out there when it was quieter, enjoyed the peace of being the only person on the equipment. He was sweating, old t-shirt stuck to his skin, sweatpants riding low. His eyes were closed as he did pull ups, everything straining, just the right side of pleasure/pain.

“Looking good Sam,” the voice in his ear was unexpected, rough. His eyes opened and he let go of the bar, falling with an inelegant huff onto his ass. The green eyes that stared at him were appraising, and the hands on his shoulders possessive and rough. Sam’s mouth went dry and he pulled away from the man’s grip, feeling his t-shirt rip further, the sudden exposure of skin.

“What the hell?” Sam pulled himself up to his full height. He was nearing six foot five now and he knew that he could look intimidating but the guy just laughed, one hand pressing on Sam’s chest, lightly twisting his nipple, the other smoothing down Sam’s flat stomach until it rested, lightly, on his cock.

“I’ve been watching you, Sam,” the guy’s voice was low and when he leaned in closer Sam could smell old spice, leather and sweat. His eyes were so green, pupils black and blown, mouth sensuous, full lips just like a woman’s, just like . . . he cut his thoughts off abruptly and tried to pull free before his body gave the guy any clue as to how he felt. He was growing hard and he didn’t want to, didn’t want this. “You got yourself a pretty little girl but we both know that you prefer a harder body, don’t you?”

“Leave me alone!” He roared and pushed the man backwards; he overbalanced and nearly fell giving Sam the perfect opportunity to loom over him, channeling anger and trying to ignore the unease and the desire.

“I’ll never leave you alone, Sam,” the guy – and fuck Sam didn’t even know his name – hissed. “Not until I get what we both want.”

Sam just stared at him for a moment and then stormed out of the gym; for a moment he wished he had done something, anything, to warn the guy off but he was taken by surprise, his head telling his heart that he had come here to avoid these sorts of things. He had wanted normal and this – this wasn’t normal – not at all.

He showered in his dorm; in the too small shower, the water pressure hardly enough to wet him let alone make him feel better. That night his sleep was restless and he kept dreaming about Dean.

****

Things got worse; the nameless guy turned up everywhere from his lessons, to the cinema, to his favorite bar. He would stare at Sam with those intense green eyes, make lewd gestures, smile and lick his lips. Sometimes Sam panicked and other times he figured he was maybe the only person who could see the guy, the only person who really noticed him. There was no swift solution to this problem. He couldn’t call the cops because to be honest there was no crime in being in the same place as someone and Sam knew this, understood this, and he couldn’t do anything but watch his carefully constructed normal life fall apart.

He was at a party; one of Jess’s friends. They were both a little drunk to begin with, sniggering and drinking whiskey in Jess’s room before the party even began. Jess was seriously wobbly on her feet two hours after getting there and Sam found a spare bedroom that he could use, laying her down on the bed and kissing her forehead smiling fondly. He decided to let her sleep it off for a while and then get them a taxi home. They were going to be moving in together soon and Sam was excited and nervous thinking about what would be his first real home.

He was coming down the stairs when someone caught his arm and he knew – without question – who it would be. Green eyes met his with determination and Sam felt his face flush, his chest clenching with anger, his heart pounding hard.

“If you don’t leave me alone I’m gonna call the cops.”

“No you won’t,” the guy’s voice was soft, his hand creeping along Sam’s shoulders, hooking around his neck and burying, tightly, into his hair.

“Look,” Sam began but it was too late; the guy pulled his hair back and jabbed his fingers hard into Sam’s windpipe. Sam gave a croaking, wheezing sound and collapsed unable to hold himself up or fight back. The guy laughed and grabbed Sam around the waist, slamming him head first into the stairs. Beneath him the party was in full swing and no one heard or cared as his vision blacked out, stars fluttered in front of his closed eye-lids and he fell into oblivion.

****

He was naked; tied to a bed, lights dim, wrists chafed. It was like some kind of nightmare and he wished that this was some hunt, a supernatural big bad that could be easily neutralized. He knew he was no longer at the party, there was no noise, no sounds of merriment and he hoped that Jess wasn’t too worried. His thoughts meandered randomly for a while, head thumping, mouth dry. For a moment he felt sick and then a hand gripped his throat and he forced his eyes open.

“Sammy." And the very name almost made him sick. “Here we are.”

“Don’t call me that,” he ground out and the man laughed. “Just untie me,” Sam croaked. “Let me free and nothing will happen.” He felt his wrists crack as he struggled against the ropes there. “Why are you doing this?” He cried in desperation, feeling useless, foolish, wondering what the fuck his dad would say, what Dean would say. “We met at a party for God’s sake, why are you doing this?”

“I’m yours, Sam Winchester, and you are mine. Loved you from the moment I set eyes on you. So pretty – so damn pretty.”

“I don’t even know your name,” Sam stuttered as the man moved closer. He looked so like his brother; even smelt like him but the attraction was gone, replaced with cold, hard fear. “Please.”

“You don’t need to know me, Sam. I am your dream and your worst nightmare,” he sniggered. “You should know that I’ve done this before and it is always best to give in to me, give me what I want.” Dry hands ran up his naked thigh and fingers tangled in the sparse hair around his sac. “Else I’ll just take it.”

Sam bit his lip so hard that salty blood spurted into his mouth; he pulled again at his bonds but he had been bound too tight. His eyes were sore and his head ached from where it had been banged repeatedly against the stairs. He knew that he had the beating of his stalker but he also knew he had to get free before he could do anything. He could feel his body prickling with distaste as the hand in his hair tightened, pulling and tugging, looking for a reaction. Sam’s head spun, he saw the guy’s face, saw him everywhere, encroaching on his life. He saw green eyes and a smug, sensuous smile, a figure lurking in every corner and he felt his anger grow, his fear escalate, his body infused with some sort of inhuman strength as he managed to snap one of his bonds, his wrist cracking, blood spurting as he rose up swiftly and head-butted the man; hard.

The man snarled; he pressed at Sam but Sam pushed forward his advantage, digging his fingers into the man’s eyes, wrist and hand screaming with pain. The man went down and Sam fumbled quickly with the knots on his other wrist, freeing himself, his naked skin shuddering, tremors running through him as he decided on fight or flight.

If he ran now then there would be no end to this; the guy was obviously unbalanced, he had admitted to doing it before and he would do it again. He was a danger – not just to Sam – but to others and there would be no end to it. Even if he stayed to fight there might be no closure. The man was fueled – not by some evil, supernatural force – but by sheer strength of character. Sam went from thinking rationally to acting on impulse and he grabbed the guy hard, painfully head butting his forehead, fingers still digging into the other man’s eyes. He was pretty sure that he had broken his wrist and now there was a possible concussion in the mix. The guy was groaning, trying to struggle from Sam’s grasp and – without a thought – Sam moved his fingers down, wrapped them round the man’s throat and began to squeeze – hard.

****

He only knew this; salt and burn, make sure the thing didn’t come back; make sure it was dead. There would be no more green eyes, no more appearing at parties, in lessons, outside his fucking dorm. He could look forward now, actually be normal. He never thought much of the consequences; went back to his dorm and showered away the stink as he always used to do. He lay on his bed thinking of Dean, missing his brother more than he had ever done.

He wanted to go home.

****

The Present

Dean’s face was pale; freckles standing out in stark relief against white skin, green eyes over bright. It was easy to read Dean’s thoughts in that one moment. Easy to see that Dean was thinking about the Sam he picked up from Stanford, the Sam that wouldn’t even kill Max Miller because Sam considered him to be a human. He was thinking about the Sam that didn’t kill Jake at the first opportunity, only killed him after, when it was almost too late. Sam could see Dean’s eyes on him, considering what Sam had just told him and Sam felt his cheeks grow hot, his neck itch as he realized just how frank he had been.

“You killed him.” It was a statement not a question and it sounded cold and stark coming from Dean’s mouth.

“I never meant - ” He was aware of sounding weak, foolish, all the things that had gone before, all the things they had surmounted, gotten through wiped out by one single moment of fear and anger.

“You killed him, Sammy,” Dean’s tone seemed to war between anger and pity.

“He was going to rape me,” it sounded stark put out there like that and he had never really let himself think much about it. “He was going to destroy me.”

“You never even knew who he was.” Dean’s expression was impassive; his game face.

“There was nothing.” Even after all these years Sam felt confused; he had never known who his stalker was, there had been no missing person reports, nobody asking questions and he had begun to wonder if the guy had actually been human. No one had seen Sam leave the party; Jess had been angry to have been abandoned but she hadn’t known what had really happened. Sam had bruises on his wrists, broken bones and a black eye which he had been at pains to explain away using anything from a fight to a fall as an excuse. He had been in a cast for a month and his mind had almost refused to believe what had happened, blocking it out, denying it almost, until now.

He had thought he had seen the guy here in this bar but he had known – really – that that was impossible, that he had been wrong, that the guy was long dead; remains salted and burned, unable to hurt Sam anymore.

“I felt weak; I knew what you would say, what dad would say.” Sam swallowed back bile, his throat tight, eyes burning. He had thought that maybe they were okay again, that things were looking up. He had managed – over the years – to submerge his feelings for Dean, to pretend that they didn’t exist. He loved his brother and he never, ever wanted to hurt him; soulless or otherwise.

“You killed him Sammy,” Dean sounded rough, a broken record. “But I don’t blame you.”

Sam felt relief almost floor him; he let his hands reach out and clutch at Dean’s shoulders, his head flop on Dean’s shoulder, nose nuzzling in the juncture of Dean’s neck and the soft fluff of his hair. He wanted to cry; foolish tears that he had kept in check all of these years. He had let the whole thing go too far, should have nipped it in the bud, called the cops maybe, but he had wanted normal so damn much.

“I pretended it never happened,” he choked out, finally. “Told Jess I got in a fight – told her that I had gotten clumsy, fallen down the stairs. She never questioned me, never did, not until you showed up at least.” He huffed a tearful laugh, “I never meant to kill him but he – he wanted something I couldn’t give him, even though – even though I wanted it, too.”

Dean swallowed; Sam saw the rise and fall of his chest.

“Because he looked like me,” he said, finally.

“Because he looked like you,” Sam choked out and he came undone.

****

Sam opened his eyes; for a moment panic gripped him and his throat closed. A face was close to his, the scent of old spice and leather in his nostrils, a soft mouth against his throat, teeth nipping. For a moment he panicked, his fingers gripping at the others hair, then he realized it was his brother, closer than he had ever been, gaze burning into Sam’s, breath warm on Sam’s skin.

“How long Sammy?” It was a whispered question. “How long?”

“Since I was old enough to know things; I touched myself when I thought of you.” His face flushed hot at the memories. “I left because I wanted normal and part of that normal was not being in love with my brother.”

“Oh, Sam.” A kiss, warm against his mouth; tongue seeking entry. Sam sighed and dug his fingers into Dean’s short hair, opening up and letting Dean inside, his whole body shuddering. “Sam, I love you too, you idiot – why do you think I went to pieces when you jumped into the pit? Why do you think I fought so hard to get your soul back? To get you back? I want this, Sammy. I want this so much.”

Sam let his brother strip him of his clothing; let callused hands pull down his jeans, his boxers, undo his over shirt and pull off his t-shirt. Sam was naked, vulnerable but he wanted and needed this, he wanted and needed closure, to forget what had happened at Stanford, to forget he had killed a man - but had he killed a human being or just another monster?

Dean bit his ear. “Stop thinking,” he hissed and wrapped his fingers around Sam’s cock. Sam hardened in his hand, bucking and moaning, wanting this more than he had ever wanted anything. “Stop thinking, Sammy – this is about us now – nothing or no one else.”

They made love that night; Dean so deep inside of him that he felt full and protected, no pain, no angst, no soul searching, just a hot body, tender hands and the gentle touch of a lover. They had been through so much, seen so much, done so many things good and bad and now – now Sam had, finally, come home.

Afterwards, he lay in Dean’s arms and asked for forgiveness only to be told that there was no need, never been any need. Dean loved him; as a big brother, as a lover and as a friend. They were complete, together; whole.

Sam was home safe; no shadowy figure lurking in the darkness; no fear; no monsters; just Dean. Always Dean.

End


End file.
